The Road Not Taken
by eenak
Summary: "Do you ever wonder what your life could have been if you made different decisions?" A simple question asked to a friend has unintended consequences.
1. Chapter 1

_AN: Really REALLY should not be doing this, as I already have too many unfinished fics in the fire so to speak, but I already have this one mapped out and its a short one. This was mostly born out of a desire to try a first-person fic, which I tend to really not like. Should be able to update it weekly. _

* * *

_Two roads diverged in a yellow wood,  
And sorry I could not travel both  
And be one traveler, long I stood  
And looked down one as far as I could  
To where it bent in the undergrowth;_

The Road Not Taken, Robert Frost

**Part 1**

"Do you ever wonder what your life could have been if you made different decisions?" I asked the question out of the blue, filling the void that had descended on the conversation. It was Saturday, and I was home alone, in a fit of boredom I had decided to give my long time friend a call.

Of course one of the things about long time friends is that you have probably discussed just about every topic under the sun, and before too long the conversation could run dry. Another thing about long time friends is that they could tend to keep up with sudden and abrupt shifts in topic.

"_You know I don't like to do that introspective shit. It only leads to trouble." _The other thing about old friends is that they also tended not to pull any punches, especially when they're Santana Lopez. I let out a heavy sigh, and could almost imagine her rolling her eyes. "_Though by the sounds of it I take it you have wondered what it would be life if you had done things differently. What's up I thought all was happiness and rainbows in Munchkin Land."_

I frowned and shook my head, not caring that she couldn't see the motion. "No it is, I mean everything is fine, it's great."

"_Maybe you should get Berry to give you some acting lessons cuz that was one piss poor attempt at sincerity."_

I huffed out an annoyed breath. I was already regretting my spur of the moment decision to try to have a semi-meaningful conversation with the Latina. If history had taught me anything it was that the other woman had an almost allergic reaction to even the mere hint of feelings or emotions. "Things are _fine," _I insisted. "I just…sometimes…wonder…you know?"

_"Actually I don't know, so why don't you just go ahead and tell me already."_ It was Santana's version of emotional support, so I decided to take it.

"I just sometimes wonder what I would have done, or could have become, if I hadn't moved to New York when I did."

"_Yeah see that sounds a lot like trouble in paradise, since the reason you came to New York when you did was to be with Berry."_

I expelled a frustrated breath, not sure I was explaining myself, or my feelings properly. "It's not that anything's wrong, we don't really fight, have a good time together, I don't regret coming here. I just…I wonder what I would have done if I had followed my own path, independently. Maybe I would have decided to go to grad school, or joined the Peace Corps., or just…thrown caution to the winds and traveled the country for a year, no concerns, no responsibilities, just me and the open road."

I had gotten into Yale, early acceptance, and even though I didn't yet know what I wanted to do with my life, I had been ecstatic. Part of me had been terrified I was going to end up forever mired in the small town of my birth, going to the same places, seeing the same people, a life-long Lima loser. That letter, with its distinctive blue "Y" had changed everything in an instant. A weight that I hadn't even been aware of had lifted off my chest, and for the first time in a long time I had finally been able to breathe again.

Rachel had been the first to congratulate me. We had found a tenable position in our relationship, not exactly friends, but the constant animosity and one-upmanship that had defined us previously had faded. When I found out she had gotten into NYADA (as if anyone had doubted that eventuality) I purchased a metro pass for each of us. It was a wholly out of character move for me, I didn't typically make overtures, I let other people come to me, but something about it felt right.

Even when I bought it part of me doubted that she would stay in touch. Why, as she was embarking on her life-long dream of making it in New York City, would she want to be reminded of her past in a small town full of people that had treated her like she was nothing; less than nothing. Especially by the one person that had spear headed the campaign of humiliation and _ostracization_. But Rachel wasn't like other people, she was much better in a lot of ways, and she had kept in touch, both over the summer, and after we each settled in at our respective colleges.

Thinking back I'm still not sure how it happened. I had known for a long time that I was different. When you are surrounded by girls that are slowly losing all sense of reason over boys as they experience the first heady rush of hormones, and all you can do is sit back and wonder what the big deal is, even a simpleton could figure out something was off. I wasn't a simpleton, but I was deeply in denial. Being gay wasn't an option for me, so I refused to consider it.

I knew though; how could you not? Clichéd though it was I lashed out against the objects of my affection, Rachel most notably, and learned to close myself off, shut myself down, and I created the HBIC persona that all at McKinley grew to identify me with.

College was a whole new world though. Free from the constraints of small minded peers, parents, and even my own self imposed shackles, I was finally able to take my first tentative steps into the open. It was freeing, invigorating, and terrifying. I had spent years hiding who I really was away from the world, and to finally expose that to the light of day left me feeling vulnerable and defensive. Neither were emotions I handled well.

Somehow though Rachel saw all this, and instinctively understood what I was going through. At first I attributed it to her two gay dads, or her gay best friend, but I eventually came to realize that I hadn't been the only one to hide a piece of myself away in that small Ohio town.

The change from friends to more, so much more, was gradual, natural, and by Christmas break I had my first official girlfriend. We vowed that we would take it slowly, not put pressure on each other, just enjoy our time together and not get bogged down with expectations. I thought about her all the time, the college experience that I had been so eager for had become little more than an obstacle to endure until I could board the train at Union Station every Friday afternoon. By the next fall I had traded Yale blue for the lighter hue of Columbia.

"_What are you Jack fucking Kerouac now? Since when do you want to chuck it all and become a drifter?"_

"I don't," I huffed, annoyed. "I just wonder what paths would have presented themselves if I hadn't had someone else's dreams and aspirations to consider. If I would have become more than just someone in a supporting role."

"_Like I said; trouble in paradise. I mean I get it; I get bored with a chick after a few weeks. I have no idea how you have managed to spend years with Berry without jumping off your apartment balcony. Plus the sex has got to be boring as fuck."_

"The sex isn't boring," I defended hotly; sex with Rachel had never been an issue. "It's just..," I blew out a breath sharply, ruffling my bangs. "I don't even know what it is, I just wonder you know….What if. You never really wonder about how your life would have turned out if you had done things in a different way."

I was sure the Latina had to have regrets; her life had not exactly been smooth sailing. From our tumultuous high school years, to her family disowning her when they found out she was gay, to her seemingly endless stream of one night stands, Santana has had almost as many pivotal forks in the road as I have.

"_No point. Playing the what if game is a waste of time. You can't change the past, and wondering about it will just drive you crazy. I just do what feels right for the moment, hasn't steered me wrong yet."_

I laughed, my tone edged with disbelief. "Really? Hasn't steered you wrong? So you are totally satisfied with your life?"

_"More satisfied than you by the sounds of it."_

"I'm satisfied," I insisted defensively, and even I could hear the doubt in my tone. I was satisfied…to an extent. Part of me though couldn't stop wondering what could have been. I shook my head, maybe Santana was right, it's not like dwelling on the past would change anything. "Besides I can't just do whatever I feel like on a whim. I have responsibilities, someone else to consider." I pulled the phone away from my ear and glanced at the time. "Speaking of, Rachel is going to be home soon and I have to get dinner started. Call you tomorrow?"

_"Later, bitch."_

I rolled my eyes at her abrupt departure, but after all these years I was used to it, and had long since stopped being even remotely offended. I tossed the phone to the other side of the bed and flopped backwards, hand draped over my eyes, trying to process the recent conversation.

I knew that I had made it seem like I was miserable in my life with Rachel, but I wasn't. I really wasn't. There was just this constant nagging voice, tickling at the back of my head that something was missing. I growled in frustration. No, not missing, just more. That there should **_be_** more, that **_I _**should be more.

Sighing I pushed myself upright. Whatever the feeling was I wasn't going to figure it out today; it had been plaguing me long enough, a little longer wouldn't make much difference. Standing I made my way out of the bedroom and down the short hallway to the living area. I stopped short, surprised to see Rachel wrestling with her coat by the door.

"Hey you," I greeted warmly, making my way over. Even after all this time I still get a happy little burst of adrenaline whenever I see her. "You're home early." I leaned in to give her a welcome home kiss, frowning slightly in confusion when she presented me with her back instead.

Rachel hung her coat and turned back to face me. "We finished the secondary casting a little earlier than expected so they let us all go early."

Rachel had recently landed her first real starring role and was over the moon about it. It was a smaller production, but it was a lead, and it was on Broadway, so she couldn't be happier. I had been so proud the day that Rachel had come home, practically floating, and told me that she had landed the part.

It was a modern rock opera, a kind of lesbian Romeo and Juliet, told through a modern lens, and with more modern music. So not only had Rachel finally landed her first starting role, but it was a story with a message she could get passionate about. Part of me was not particularly thrilled that my girlfriend was going to be paid to make out with some random chick on stage, but I kept that part firmly leashed. Rachel was finally achieving her dreams, and I was not about to let my jealously taint it for her in any way. I had left a lot of what made me the HBIC behind in Lima, but I had come to realize that not wanting to share was just a part of who I was.

Rachel brushed past me and headed towards the kitchen. I checked the dead bolt; Rachel was notorious for forgetting to set it when she returned home, before trailing my petite girlfriend.

"Well I was just about to start on supper, I didn't realize you were going to be home early or I would have started it a little earlier." Rachel retrieved a bottle of water from the fridge before turning to face me. Something about her demeanor seemed off, jittery, her eyes kept bouncing around the room, flitting about but never really coming to rest on any one thing for long.

Rachel twisted the cap off the bottle and took a swallow. "That's okay, I'm not that hungry anyway, so don't go to any special trouble for my sake."

I frowned and walked towards her. "Are you feeling okay?" Rachel Berry was a creature of habit. She liked routine, and order, and schedules. She always woke at 5:45 am, exercised for exactly 45 minutes on her elliptical, to the same sound track. She ate the same 3 things for breakfast, the only variety being which day of the week a particular item was consumed. For her to not want supper, especially when she was prepping for her first big show, told me that something must be off.

I reached out to feel her brow, yeah I know it isn't an indication of illness but it was instinct and it's what people do when they think someone else is sick. Before I could make contact Rachel edged a little further away and nodded her head.

"I'm fine, just tired." This only served to increase my worry. I knew that Rachel had been under a lot of stress with the show. She had been putting in crazy hours since being cast, and now I was concerned that the small diva might be over extending herself. It wasn't like Rachel, a veritable ball of energy, to suffer from fatigue, let alone admit to it. Nor was it like Rachel to be so subdued and quiet.

"Well why don't you go lay down on the couch and rest," I suggested resting my hand lightly on Rachel's back and rubbing a small circle. I noticed the small flinch and tightening of her back muscles when I made contact but just attributed it to the stresses of the day. Maybe I would offer to give her a massage later to help her unwind.

Rachel sent me a small smile, far dimmer than her usual mega watt grins, and gave a short nod. "I think that's a good idea."

I watched my girlfriend make her way into the living room a look of concern etched on my face. Rachel had been acting jumpy and distant since she entered the apartment, and I just hoped that she wasn't coming down with anything serious. My girlfriend usually couldn't wait to tell me _all _about her day, in exacting detail, but she had barely spoken five words since her arrival home. Biting my lip I turned to the refrigerator; Rachel had said she wasn't hungry, but I wanted to have something ready for her to pick at later in case her appetite returned. While I prepared the light meal I vowed to keep a close eye on her to make sure took better care of herself.


	2. Chapter 2

**Part 2**

A week later I found myself sitting on the couch, waiting for Rachel to get home, with more questions than answers about whatever was plaguing my girlfriend. My emotions had run the gamut in the preceding week from concerned, to really concerned, to confused, to my current state of concerned but also pissed.

At first I had tried to give her the space she seemed to want. That fact alone should have caused alarm bells to sound. On the rare occasions that she got sick Rachel Berry usually liked to be pampered and coddled. I was the one that liked to be left alone until I felt better. But Rachel seemed to want space, so I had given it to her; all the while keeping a close eye from a distance to make sure my tiny singer wasn't neglecting her health. When she was this focused on something she could often let little details like eating, sleeping, and resting fall to the wayside.

After the first day Rachel's appetite and energy had seemed to rebound to normal levels. At least from what little I could observe since Rachel had basically only been coming back to the apartment to sleep, before bounding out again the next morning. I tried my best not to be annoyed; I understood that Rachel was going to have to put in long hours getting this new production off the ground, but I hadn't realized they would be quite _this_ long.

I missed my girlfriend, and while I knew Rachel's career meant the world to her, I wanted to make sure that even with her demanding schedule we still made time for each other. I sighed and looked at the clock on the DVR - 9:26. And I intended to tell her just that if she ever got home.

I was doing my best to not think the worst, but Rachel's absence had been more than physical this past week. Even after over eight years together, we still acted like a couple in the first blush of a new relationship; texting each other multiple times a day just to say hi or check in; making excuses to touch each other, even in the most casual way; a very active sex life.

All that had seemed to disappear, virtually overnight, and it was leaving me confused and worried. At first I had thought that Rachel was mad at me, and I knew that I could be a pain to deal with sometimes, but I couldn't think of any incident, even a minor one, that would have caused the diva to become displeased with me. So I was left to try to decipher my usually demonstrative girlfriend's sudden distance.

I had toyed briefly with talking to Santana about the situation, but remembering her less than helpful advice during our last conversation, had nixed that idea. I wanted to believe that Rachel was just busy, distracted, and short on time, but the diva was doing more than not making time for me. I had tried on several occasions this week to initiate physical contact, and every advance, even a simple kiss, had either been rebuffed, or terminated as quickly as possible. As the distance had continued to grow between us, so too had my worry, and finally, my anger.

While I didn't need to be the center of attention like Rachel, neither did I like to be ignored. I really didn't know what I could have done to cause Rachel to put this sudden gulf between us, but if I had done something I expected Rachel to tell me what it was so we could address the issue. I had tried a couple of times previously, but had been rebuffed with pleas of exhaustion, and promises of 'can't we talk about it later'. Well it was later, almost 10 pm in fact.

I had texted her around 8, hours after she usually returned home, and after having not received a text from her all day. She had replied that she would be home 'soon'. I gave the door an evil glare, as if it was somehow to blame for its current state of inactivity. As I was debating the merits of calling Santana after all, or maybe grabbing my jacket and going out to track down my wayward girlfriend, I heard the sound of her key sliding into the lock and the dull thud of the dead bolt opening.

I spring up off the couch, my nervous energy eager to finally unleash itself now that there is a target, but manage to restrain myself from rushing to the door. My less noble instincts are urging me to confront her and demand to know where she has been. But while I am pissed about her actions over the past week, I want to try to keep things from devolving into a fight.

"Oh Quinn, hello." She sounds like she's surprised to see me. Seriously, where else would I be? I texted her less than two hours ago asking when she would be home so we could have dinner together. I harshly suppress the biting, sarcastic retort that springs to mind almost reflexively. After I had finally accepted who I was, and we had struck up our friendship, I hadn't felt the urge to snipe at her. Having the long forgotten behavior reassert itself so effortlessly now was not only unexpected, but unwelcome.

"Hey." I make my way towards her, like I have a thousand times before, to greet her with a welcome home kiss. She busies herself with hanging her coat, much like every day this week, sending out a silent signal that she wants to be left alone. Part of me wants to just forgo our usual ritual, the constant subtle rejection of the previous week has worn away at me. Instead of succumbing I continue to move forward, forcing her back against the now closed door, and closing off her only avenue of escape.

The way she is tensing her muscles at my advance makes me feel like some kind of sexual predator, instead of her girlfriend. When our lips finally make contact it is everything that it never used to be, but has suddenly become. Awkward, stiff, tense, emotionless. Like her I have tensed my muscles, though I know why I have to steel myself to endure this weak facsimile of our former affections, I am still in the dark about what has caused her withdrawal. Unable to take it any longer I break the kiss, which was probably more unpleasant for me than it was for her.

"You're home late." I tried my best to keep my tone casual, completely devoid of accusation. She fidgets with her fingers, before nervously tucking a loose strand of hair behind her ear. She still hasn't made eye contact. I watch her critically, attuned to every minute change in her body language. Rachel is extremely vocally expressive, but her unconscious movements can sometimes be even more telling. She's uncomfortable, maybe even a little scared. I can only assume that it's of me, and the thought makes my heart clench.

"Rehearsal ran a little longer than I anticipated and then we decided to go out for drinks afterwards." She edges past me, making her way towards the kitchen, undoubtedly for the bottle of water she always gets upon arriving home. I know so much about her, and yet at the same time, I'm beginning to think that I don't know enough. I follow, determined to not let her evade this conversation once again.

"I thought you were going to be home around eight. I made dinner." I am careful to modulate my tone, simply making a statement of fact.

"Oh. I'm sorry I didn't realize. After I got your text the decision to go out just kind of came up, and I didn't even think to text you to let you know I was going to be a little late." The hurt roils through me but I keep my expressionless mask firmly in place. It scares me a little how quickly I am able to slip back into my old habits. Less than two weeks ago she had texted me to help her decide whether she should paint her nails Coral Pink, or Sassy Salmon, but now she couldn't even be bothered to let me know that she was going to blow off our evening together and spend the night with friends.

I desperately want to chalk it up to her just getting immersed in a new role, a new adventure. I know how single minded she can be when she gets passionate about something, once upon a time that something was me. But I know I haven't imagined her distance of late, nor the way she seemed to suffer through my few attempts to reestablish our physical connection.

"Well I'm pretty bushed, the rehearsals have been brutal this week, so I think I'm going to just head to bed." She smiles, that same dim imitation I have been getting all week, and makes her way toward the door.

"Rachel." I only say her name, but it is enough to halt her in her tracks. "We need to talk." A see her bottom lip quiver and any meager hope I may have had that I was imagining this chasm is dashed. She knows. She knows and she has been avoiding me because whatever it is that's caused her to distance herself from me, she doesn't want to talk about it. Rachel loves to talk, she thrives on it, so for her to not want to talk about something can only mean that it's bad. Really bad.

She gives me a smile, but it doesn't quite reach her eyes. Maybe she meant it to reassure me that everything was fine and normal, or maybe it was to convince herself; it doesn't work on either count. "Can it wait until tomorrow? I really am exhausted and I don't want to over exert myself and fail to perform adequately in rehearsals."

It sounds like a reasonable request except for two things; one, if she was so concerned about getting to bed early she shouldn't have gone out for a drink with her fellow cast mates, and two, she and the rest of the cast had Sundays off. Part of me wanted to point this out to her, but that was the old me, the bitchy Quinn I had worked so hard to leave behind. It was a struggle, but I refrained from throwing a sarcastic barb at her.

"I really think we need to talk now. I've already tried to have this conversation a few times this week and something always keeps interrupting or putting it off." Well if that didn't sound ominous, nothing would. She licks her lips and tucks some loose hair behind her ear, both nervous habits. I can't blame her, I'm just about to jump out of my skin too; no conversation that starts with 'we need to talk' ever seems to end well. "C'mon lets go into the living room, it will be more comfortable."

I lead the way out of the kitchen, trusting that she will follow. I deliberately didn't give her any time to try to evade the situation yet again. I wanted to grab her hand, reassure her that everything was going to be fine, but I didn't do either. I couldn't face yet another physical rejection from her, and with each passing minute I became less and less sure that everything would be okay.

We settle awkwardly on either end of the couch, unconsciously taking up mirror poses. I clear my throat, delaying slightly for time. I know that I am the one that wanted to have this talk, but now that I am faced with it I desperately just want to continue to sweep everything under the rug and pretend that nothing is wrong. I sigh, knowing that that isn't an option. I can't live like my parents did for so many years.

"So look I know you have been busy with work, and I understand that, I really do, but it just seems that something else is going on." I pause, giving her a chance to interject with reassurances or explanations, something that she usually is more than happy to do, but she sits in silence. Instead of talking more I decide to let the silence linger, I know it won't be long before she cracks.

"Nothing is going on Quinn, everything is fine." Rachel is an actress, and a damn good one, but not even she could have believed that statement. First of all nothing was ever just fine with Rachel, it was spectacular, superb, exemplary, sub-par, inferior, or another of a whole host of other words, but never something as mundane as fine.

"Really? Everything is fine. So it's totally normal that this is the longest conversation that we have had all week? That in addition to not talking to me, you have also stopped texting me. That every time I try to touch you, you flinch and pull away? You may be _fine_ with that, but I see a serious problem_." _I had promised myself that I wasn't going to get angry. I had an unfortunate tendency to get extremely bitchy and sarcastic when angry. But hearing her lie, and so blatantly, to my face had loosened the grip I had on my irritation.

"I've just been busy with work; you know how demanding the schedule can be." I did know. While this was Rachel's first time originating a role, and a lead one at that, it was not her first show. The hours and demands were substantial, but we had always worked around it in the past. Which was what was making her insistence now all the more difficult to believe.

"Bullshit!" Okay that didn't quite come out as planned. You know how you have this image in your mind of how you are going to react in a situation, and then when you are actually in the situation it all just flies out the window? That's kind of what was happening now. I had planned to be cool, calm, collected Quinn and instead I was turning in to short tempered, angry, bitchy Quinn.

She flinched at my outburst and drew in to herself a little further. Rachel did not like it when we fought, for that matter neither did I. I'm sure it brought up unpleasant memories of high school for both of us, which is why I usually managed to reign in my temper. Normally when we disagreed it was over something relatively minor; whose turn it was to clean the bathroom, how much she had spent on her latest shopping trip, the fact that even after eight years I _still_ ate meat; but this was different. This had me scared, and while I might be able to suppress my old habits if I was just annoyed, they came back in full measure when I felt backed into a corner.

I take a deep breath; willing myself to calm down. If I turn in to a raging lunatic she is just going to completely shut down. I run a hand through my hair, struggling to find a less accusatory way of posing the questions I desperately needed answers to.

"Rachel, you have been busy before, and we have still always found the time for each other. I know I don't have your sixth sense but even I can tell something is wrong." It was a weak attempt at a joke, and I wasn't really surprised that it didn't even elicit the hint of a smile.

I reach over to grasp her hand, and right on cue I can feel her flinch slightly and fight the urge to withdraw. "See that, that right there is what I'm referring to. Talk to me baby." I hated making myself vulnerable, even with her, but by this point I was pleading.

"I heard you." The words were so soft they barely registered.

"Well then talk to me."

She shook her head, a frown creasing her usually cheerful features. "No. I _heard_ you." It was my turn to shake my head. I can see that she is willing me to get the point, but I am drawing a blank.

"Heard me what?"

She finally withdraws her hand from my grasp and I feel the loss instantly. It was the longest we had been in physical contact all week. "Last week, when I got home early from rehearsal, I heard you on the phone."

Well that made sense to me at least, since about a week ago was when I started getting the cold shoulder, but I couldn't think of anything that would upset her to this….oh...shit.


	3. Chapter 3

**Part 3**

I figured I had two options at this point. I could pretend that I had no idea what she was talking about, and when she finally laid it out for me I could act confused, as though I couldn't remember ever having said that and hope that the whole thing just blew over. That probably would have been the smart option; or at least the less disastrous option.

I did not choose that option.

"Rachel it's not what you think." Even as the words left my mouth I wanted to slap myself. I may have just as well said 'Yes Rachel it's exactly what you think', because explanations that start that way never go the way the explainer intends. Perhaps if I hadn't felt like a deer caught in the headlights of an oncoming tractor trailer truck I would have remembered that before I opened my mouth. Unfortunately I did not.

"Don't try to deny it Quinn, I _heard _you." The anguish in her voice socks me right in the stomach, and I desperately hope I am not about to be sick all over her as a wave of nausea immediately swamps me.

"Baby please, it was just a stupid conversation with Santana it didn't mean anything." Oh Jesus, really? Could I seriously pick anything triter to throw at her? It was like I was reading a canned script from some _What Not to Say When You Get Caught Cheating _manual. Oh god, I hope she doesn't think I'm cheating on her.

Of course my pathetic response had no effect on her whatsoever and I saw her brown eyes grow stormy. "Well it may mean nothing to you Quinn, but when I find out my girlfriend regrets our entire relationship and feels trapped it means something to me." Rachel spits the words with such venom that it takes all of my resolve not to flinch away from her. I have never seen her this angry before. Sure we had had our little spats, but nothing like this.

"Rachel that is not what I said and it is in no way what I meant. You have this all wrong. Please just let me explain." I wanted to reach out for her, part of me desperately wanted to anchor myself to her, ground myself, but another part of me was afraid she would reject my advance again. That or cut my hand off.

"Please explain Quinn. I would love to hear you explain how you don't wish you could go back and not move here, how you don't feel burdened, overshadowed, and trapped by me and my I'm sure numerous demands, how our sex life isn't boring."

"I never said out sex life was boring." I hadn't. I mean I hadn't really said the other stuff either, more implied it, or alluded to it, but I know I most definitely had not once complained about sex. Somehow in the roiling mess of emotions and thoughts flooding my system that seemed like an important point to clarify.

"But you don't deny the rest of it. You feel trapped. You wish you could change coming to New York and being with me." The anger and righteous fury that had sparked briefly in Rachel seemed to be burning itself out, leaving her looking defeated and beret. Even after all the shit that Santana and I had put her through in high school I had never seen her look this defeated. Her resilience and seemingly endless well of optimism in the face of truly awful situations was one of her defining characteristics. To see her looking this dejected was killing me, especially since I knew I was the one responsible.

I reached out for her, amputation be damned, needing to provide whatever meager comfort I could. As instinctive as my action was, her violent flinch away from me seemed just as automatic. It suddenly felt like someone had dumped a bucket of ice into my chest, and I felt my hands and arms go tingly and numb. If not for the sudden jackhammer like beat of my heart I would have thought it had stopped. I wonder if this is what I heart attack feels like.

"Rachel." I whisper, wanting to convey nothing but the utmost gentleness and sincerity. Well that and I'm not entirely sure I can actually manage anything louder, my throat seems to be closing up on me. "I do not regret coming to New York to be with you, and I don't feel trapped."

"Then why would you say it?" Her voice breaks on the end of the question. Yeah jackass, why would you say it? I really wish I knew. If I couldn't even think of a good reason to give myself for my asinine mental meanderings what could I possibly tell Rachel that would get her to see that she was the very best thing to ever happen to me, and I wouldn't trade my life with her for anything.

"I was just having a 'what if' conversation. Don't you ever wonder what it would be like if we hadn't gotten together?" I tried to inflect some humor into the question, to try to downplay the importance, make it no big deal. Deflection; I was very good at deflection. As with everything else I had attempted this evening, it failed.

"I try not to Quinn. Whenever I picture my life without you, I don't think of it terms of the things I could have done, I think of the things that I would have missed."

Well if I didn't already feel like a complete and utter shit, I certainly did now. I mean seriously, what do you even say to something like that? I couldn't exactly say "Yeah me too" because clearly I did in fact do exactly the opposite.

"It was just a stupid conversation Rachel. It didn't mean anything." As far as plans go, repeating yourself and insisting that what you said didn't mean anything, is really not the best plan. It's all I had though, since I seemed incapable of keeping my mouth shut and preventing myself from saying stupid things. I could only hope that my persistence would pay off. That hope is dashed when I see her shake her head.

"It means something Quinn. Those feelings had to come from somewhere, and I think you need to figure out from where."

I could do that. Well, I could probably do that. I really am not the best at dissecting my feelings. At the very least I should be able to manage to convince Rachel that I had figured it out. We were entering our late twenties; maybe I could convince her it was an early mid-life crisis.

"I will. I promise." Okay. I felt like I could breathe again. This conversation hadn't gone nearly as badly as I thought it was going to when it had started. Rachel just wanted me to figure out why I said the stupid shit I had. I couldn't fault her there; in fact I wouldn't mind knowing the reason myself. I stand up, the heavy burned I hadn't even noticed until it was gone, lifting off my shoulders. I smiled down at Rachel and extended my hand.

Oh and in case there was any doubt, which I'm sure by this point there wasn't, I'm a fucking idiot.

Instead of reaching for my hand like I thought she would, because again, idiot, Rachel remained seated on the couch, hands folded in her lap, expression pensive. I could feel the smile that had bloomed when I thought we were done with this conversation droop into a frown. Clearly we were not done.

"I think we should take some time apart. Whether you know why or not, you are clearly feeling trapped and maybe having some time and space to yourself will help you identify what you feel is missing."

I look at her dumbly. Is she serious right now? "Are you serious right now? You're kicking me out?"

"I'm not kicking you out; I just think some distance will help. If you would prefer, you can stay here, and I will procure other housing arrangements until we resolve this." See she says she's not kicking me out, but in my head that sounds a lot like kicking me out. I really can't believe she would even suggest this. She knows how sensitive I am to the thought of being tossed out of my home. Offer aside, we both know she wouldn't be the one to vacate. I would never let her disrupt her routine so badly when she was this close to starring in her first show.

"What I would prefer is for you to stop being ridiculous." If she had pushed my button with her talk of me moving out, I had just pushed hers right back. Rachel had been so thoroughly dismissed in high school, always made to feel like what she thought and felt didn't matter, nothing pissed her off more than to be disregarded out of hand.

"I'm not being ridiculous Quinn!"

"How are we suppose to resolve anything if I'm not even here?" I could hear the condescension dripping from my tone. I know I should try to reign myself in, and not let myself get defensive, but it was like a switch flipped when she brought up me moving out. I could feel myself morphing back in to my high school self. Lash out before they can see they have wounded you.

"Well, since I appear to be part of whatever problem you're having, I really think it makes sense for you and I to not be together while you are figuring it out."

"So now you're breaking up with me?"

"What? Quinn, no! I just think that some physical distance would be beneficial. I mean just look at us now; we can barely have a civil conversation about this. I just want you to be able to process this without feeling any pressure from me. I just want what's best for you."

"Really? Because it's starting to sound like you just don't want me here. If that's what you want just say so, and stop trying to make this my fault." I mean this whole situation was basically my fault, but that was so not the point right now.

"I'm not making it your fault! But just look at how tense things have been this past week. Do you really think that atmosphere is going to be helpful in resolving anything?"

"And whose fault is that? I have been trying all week to get you to talk to me and you have been avoiding me at every turn. Maybe if you had brought this up when you first heard it, instead of taking the last week to dream up elaborate scenarios about how I have been plotting to leave you, we wouldn't be in this situation in the first place."

"I'm not imagining this Quinn! I'm just trying to give you what you want. Some time to find out what you're life would be like if I wasn't in it, if you didn't have to worry about my wants, and needs. I heard you loud and clear Quinn."

"You must not have been listening closely enough since I didn't say that!" That's right; I'm sticking to my plan, shitty though it is. "Jesus Christ Rachel I was only talking to a friend and you are blowing it all out of fucking proportion. This is ridiculous!" Okay that last part may not have been part of the plan, but I make ONE off the cuff comment, which didn't even mean anything, and she decides that the logical next step is to "take a break". It was bullshit!

"Well if I'm so ridiculous you should be _jumping_ at the chance to spend some time away from me."

"You know, it's starting to sound better and better by the minute!" What is wrong with me? That was most definitely _not_ part of the plan. I couldn't seem to stop the acidic bards from flying from my lips. I did not want to spend any time away from her. I wanted us to return to the easy relationship we had enjoyed before that ill timed conversation with Santana, who would love to know how right she was; introspection only leads to trouble.

"So go!" Her cry is anguished and I realize that things have quickly spiraled out of control. When I started this conversation all I wanted was for her to tell my why she had been distant for the past week. I figured it would be something small, something fixable. This didn't seem small or fixable anymore.  
I reach out for her again, acting on instinct. "Don't! Just don't."

She wipes angrily at her eyes, the tears that she has managed to hold back this whole time finally welling to the surface. I should probably be crying too, but all I could feel at the moment was a terrible numbness.

"And what if I don't want to go?" I had to try one more time.

"Then I will."


	4. Chapter 4

**AN: So I just wanted to give a group thank you to all that have read and reviewed. I usually try to respond individually but I have been terribly lax since I have been focusing on getting the writing done on this. **

**I have most of this written now, and it will be 7 parts. So we are about half way there. I am hoping to get the rest of it posted by the end of the week, so this one will definitely be finished, the joys of short fics.**

**Part 4**

I don't deal well with ultimatums, never have, and never will. If you back me in to a corner I am going to come out swinging, and I will be trying to inflict as much damage as I possibly can. Incapacitate the enemy before they can land a blow. It was the philosophy I lived by in high school, and it worked for the most part. Well until I got pregnant; it's hard to land killing blows, even metaphorical ones, when you are sporting a baby bump as big as a beach ball.

I had reigned in the killer instinct a bit over the years, but I could always feel it brewing just under the surface, just looking for an excuse to burst free. My first instinct upon hearing Rachel tell me to either go, or that she would, was to tell her to get the fuck out. After all I'm the one that paid the majority of the bills.

She had gotten work in shows off and on, but nothing consistent. I never wanted to burden her with working a crap part time job, just to earn money we didn't really need. I made a decent living; nothing extravagant, but enough to support us while she pursued her dream of Broadway.

My parents had wielded money like a whip and never hesitated to use it keep me in line. It was a tactic I knew well. So while I'm not proud of it, it was the first thing that popped into my head when Rachel told me to get out of my own damn apartment.

It's been a week since I had that argument with Rachel, and all I can say is Santana's couch is really fucking uncomfortable.

My first instinct may have been to eviscerate, but it was still Rachel. I loved that girl more than anything and luckily something kept me from saying something I could never take back. Doing that once was more than enough. Instead I had packed myself a bag, and headed over to Santana's for what I thought would be a day, two tops. A week later, with almost no meaningful contact, I was beginning to revise my assessment.

"So just how long do you plan on staying here anyway? Usually if I let a chick stay the night she's providing me with some incentive to let her stay." In a world that has suddenly shifted violently under me, at least I could always count on Santana to think about sex; first, last, and always.

"Are you propositioning me?" There was something comforting about being able to joke with my old friend, even while my life was possibly falling apart around me.

Santana barks out a laugh. "You wish blondie. The last thing I need is any angry pygmy tracking me down cuz I finally tapped her girlfriend's ass." Eloquent as always. The mention of Rachel must have caused my expression to darken because Santana let out an aggrieved sigh. The only person I knew that hated emotionally charged situations more than me was Santana; this had to be absolute torture for her. Not that it was exactly a walk in the park for me.

"Why don't you just call her already? This is stupid. I mean you know you are welcome to stay, but you really are cramping my style here." A fact for which I was deeply appreciative. When I realized that Santana was really the only viable option I had to crash with on such short notice I had feared that I would be subjected to an endless parade of Santana's women. Thankfully she had managed to keep it in her pants, so far at least.

"I have Santana, she won't talk to me." I had called Rachel daily at the start of the week, believing that if I just apologized enough she would finally accept, and let me come home. Each call had been short, and fruitless. I had stopped calling by Thursday. She was at least still taking my calls, and I didn't want to end that by harassing her when she clearly didn't want to talk to me.

Every conversation played out the same way. She would answer, I would apologize, she would sigh, clearly disappointed, and insist that I didn't need to apologize, and then she would ask if I had figured it out yet. Of course I hadn't. That would be too easy.

"Well why don't you drag your lazy ass over there and talk to her in person so she can't hang up on you."

"Because that went so well last time; you weren't there Santana. Believe me being there in person won't solve a damn thing if we just end up embroiled in another shouting match." I still cringe when I think of that night. It got so far out of hand, so quickly. I couldn't take a repeat of that. I would rather avoid having the conversation that I knew had to happen, than to rush into it and end up saying or doing something that would irreparably fracture us.

"So you still haven't figured out why you're such a jackass?"

"Do you think if I had I will still be here enjoying your lovely company." I had tried, I really had, but no matter how hard I beat my head against the wall I just couldn't knock loose what it was that had set me down this path to exile on Santana's lumpy sofa.

I was happy with Rachel, probably happier then I had ever been. We rarely fought; I still found most of her quirks adorable (though Santana has assured me on numerous occasions that they are just fucking annoying). My job was stable, nothing overly exciting, but it paid the bills and I was relatively content.  
Rachel was on the cusp of finally making it big. ****

By any objective measure I should be on top of the world. Our lives were happy, secure, and Rachel was finally achieving the recognition she had worked her whole life for. But instead of happiness I felt this nagging sense of…urgency?...discontent?...entrapment?...regret? I still didn't know. I just knew that something was casting an unwelcome gloom over my thoughts, preventing me from being fully happy and content with my life. And until I figured out what it was I was stuck on Santana's sofa.

"Well I still think you need to go over there, even if you don't talk to her you can at least get some clothes. You're beginning to fester." I wanted to argue, but Santana wasn't wrong. My week had consisted of going to work, and then coming home and hunkering down on her couch. Uncomfortable though it was I had nowhere else to be. No longer having Rachel to take care of had left me adrift.

"What if she's there?" As much as I had called Rachel early in the week, eager to talk about this situation between us, as the week had passed I had grown more _trepidatious_. When I had first left I thought I would be able to just wait her out and smooth things over. It was now clear that she was not going to let me back home until I had a real answer for her.

Since I was still lacking that key insight, I was nervous about actually bumping into her. I didn't want her to think I wasn't trying, or taking this separation seriously. It was just about killing me to be apart from her, especially since her show was getting closer to opening. Now that they had cast the secondary characters it wouldn't be long. I feared that she was going to lose herself in her work and forget to take proper care of herself.

"Jesus Christ Fabray pull up your big girl panties and just go over there. What's the worst that could happen?" Famous last words.

* * *

As the cab pulled to a stop in front of my building I quickly tossed some money at the cab driver and scrambled out. In retrospect I probably should have walked the 10 blocks across town and used the opportunity to clear my head and settle my nerves. Instead I had opted for a cab, afraid that if I went on foot I would change my mind and turn back. As soon as I had settled into the cab however I knew it was a mistake. The small space seemed to close in on me, every sound and smell magnified, and I had struggled not to throw up the entire ride. I was nervous as hell, and nerves always hit me straight in the stomach.

I glanced at my watch; 10 a.m. If this were a normal Sunday, Rachel and I would be lounging in bed, simply enjoying each other's company, or perhaps getting ready to head out to brunch. This was anything but a normal Sunday however, and I was both hoping and dreading running into Rachel.

Logically I knew that I still wasn't ready to have the needed conversation with Rachel, but I just missed her so badly, and even if it was fleeting, the idea of just seeing her again caused my pulse to pick up. Rachel and I had not really spent any significant time apart since I had made the move from New Haven. There had never been a reason to.

Okay, enough stalling, I can't just stand out here on the sidewalk all day staring up at my building like some insane stalker. Marshaling my reserves I strode toward the front door, desperately trying to project a sense of confidence I in no way felt. Our building was nice, but not extravagant enough to warrant a doorman, so I was spared the experience of having to think of a plausible excuse for my absence the past week to give a kindly door keep. I shook my head at myself; I had clearly spent too much time with Rachel watching classic romantic comedies if these were the thoughts rushing through my head right now.

I eyed the elevator in the lobby; Rachel and I lived on the 7th floor, and while I would occasionally take the stairs, it was generally the elevator. I walked past it and headed for the stairwell. After my experience in the cab the last thing I wanted was to be confined in a small, likely odd smelling, space. Plus now that I was here I seemed to be in no rush to actually get to my apartment. Besides after a week of hiding out on Santana's sofa the exercise couldn't hurt.

I take my time on the stairs, no need to rush, and if I do happen to bump into Rachel the last thing I want is to be a sweaty panting mess. That look was only good in certain scenarios, and this was most definitely not one of them. I can only walk so slowly though and before I am entirely ready I arrive at the fire door marked with a large painted seven.

I take a deep breath and wipe my suddenly sweaty palms on my pants before I push through the door. Our apartment is down the hallway and around the corner from the stair way entrance, and as I make the walk I try to brainstorm possibly conversation starters if Rachel does happen to be home.

'Rachel, hi, how have you been?' Simple, classic, to the point.

'Oh, Rachel, I didn't expect you to be here, do you mind if I come in?' Play it cool, don't act too interested.

'Rachel, I'm sorry. Please let me come home. It didn't mean anything.' When in doubt, stick with the plan, even if the plan didn't seem to be working.

Jesus if this is the best I have I better pray that she is not at home or I'm doomed. As I am about to round the corner I slow my steps, my ears picking up the sound of voices. Normally I wouldn't mind bumping into a neighbor in the hallways, but this was not just any voice, I would know that voice anywhere. Rachel.

Like a pathetic creeper I push up tightly to the wall and try to peer around the corner without getting caught. The last thing I needed was for Rachel to spot me and think I had been lurking in the hallways spying on her for the last week. Luckily she was facing slightly away from me, and her attention was fully focused on the person she was talking with.

I frown as I take in the scene before me. Rachel is standing in the doorway of our apartment, dressed in nothing but her robe. It's her fluffy terry cloth robe, and not the satin dressing gown, but still. It's Rachel, in nothing but a robe, talking to some chick that I do not recognize. It's clear from how they are standing, half in and half out of the apartment, Rachel with her hand resting on the door knob, that they are in the process of saying goodbye.

Both Rachel and her companion have the rumpled, slightly hazy look, of someone that has just woken up. I have a clear view of Rachel's "friend" and I feel a stab jealousy lance through me as I take in her appearance. Pale, creamy skin, a tumbled mess of auburn curls, I couldn't make her eyes out at this distance but I just knew they would be some amazing shade of vibrant green. She was tall, trim, and was basically a walking sex goddess. I fucking hated her.

I dig my fingers into the wall, whether to hold myself up or to prevent myself from storming over there and scratching her eyes out I'm not entirely sure. Rachel laughs at something the redhead says, causing my stomach to drop. It is full-bodied and happy, something I haven't heard from Rachel in over two weeks.

The redhead reaches out and brushes her hand along Rachel's arm, her hand squeezing Rachel's briefly before letting go.

"Thank you so much for last night, I had no idea how much I needed that." Rachel's voice finally reaches me, cutting through the loud buzzing in my ears. "I have been bottling up so much since Quinn left." I didn't 'leave', she fucking kicked me out! Good to know that she still remembers my name though. "Last night really helped me relieve a lot of tension I didn't even know I was holding."

.Fuck. I most definitely did not like the sound of that. Rachel should not be "releasing tension" with anyone but me goddamnit. What the fuck did that even mean? I mean I'm not stupid, I know what this looks like. Rachel, scantily clad and looking rumpled. Gorgeous redhead, looking equally rumpled and seemingly unable to keep her hands off my fucking girlfriend. Rachel would never cheat on me though. I was sure of it. Really.

"I was glad to help. Anytime you need another session just give me a call." UGH, even her fucking voice was incredible. I wonder if she would sound so incredible if my hands were wrapped around her slender throat. I strained my eyes, desperate to see if there were any hickeys marring that perfect alabaster flesh. Unfortunately the distance was just too great, and even squinting I couldn't make out any detail.

"Thanks. You were a true life saver. Hopefully now I can focus properly and rehearsals won't be so tense and unbearable."

Son of a bitch. It was one of her co-stars. One of the people that she had been out partying with while I had been at home worrying myself sick over what I had done to upset her. A horrible thought struck me and I pulled away from the corner and sagged back, resting against the wall. Suddenly I wasn't so sure about anything anymore.

Maybe it had never been about what I said. Perhaps she had just been looking for an excuse to pull away. She certainly hadn't wasted any time after I was gone I thought with a sneer. Well fuck this. I was Quinn Fabray damnit, no one made a fool out of me. Not even Rachel Berry. I was going give her a piece of my mind. I would march over there and let her know that I was on to her game. I was going to….oh fuck.

I dash desperately down the hallway, my stomach flipping violently. I know it is only a matter of seconds before I empty the contents of all over the hallway. I glance desperately around, looking for any alternative.

Salvation! I rush over and wrench open the garbage shoot, making it just in time as the meager contents of my stomach make a second, and unwelcome appearance. After a few more violent spasms my stomach finally settles and I close the shoot with a thud. I wipe a shaky hand across my mouth and sag against the wall; my legs feel watery and weak.

"Hello?" Rachel's voice now rings out clearly in the hallway, which means she must be heading in my direction. I could really do without Rachel and her compassionate nature right now. Of course if she heard someone being violently ill in the hallway she would never just leave them alone, she would be compelled to see if they were alright.

I glance from the corner where she was bound to appear very soon, to the fire door.

Fight or flight.


	5. Chapter 5

**Part 5**

Once I made the transition from Lucy to Quinn I never shied away from confrontation. Lucy had been meek and afraid, always looking to hide. I vowed that as Quinn I would never cower in the corner and let people push me around. I would stand my ground and punch them in the teeth.

When faced with the thought of having to see Rachel after she had apparently just spent the night with another woman, I ran. I ran fast. I may not have liked the idea of fleeing like a coward, but it was either that or have Rachel witness me bawl my eyes out. There was no way I was going to let that happen. So I chose the lesser of two evils.

You know, if you try hard enough, and go to the sketchier parts of town, you can find a bar that is open and serving at 10:30 a.m. I was very motivated.

As I lay here, my head throbbing and stomach an absolute roiling caldron, I curse my determination. I remember very little of the previous day. What I do remember consists of sitting in a dark, seedy bar and downing drinks as quickly as possible. A tried and true Fabray family remedy; drown your sorrows in alcohol.

But since this type of drowning tended to be non-fatal, at least in the short term, I was now left to deal with the fallout. I gingerly open my eyes, I really should find out just where the fuck I am. The fact that I don't have a spring stabbing me in the back tells me it is not Santana's sofa.

The room is dim so it is hard to make out any specific details, but what I am able to make out tells me I somehow managed to find myself a hotel room. I swallow thickly, a bubble of dread expanding in my chest. I hesitantly extend my arms out to the side, and let out a heartfelt sigh when I encounter nothing but empty mattress. Oh thank god.

I know that I would never knowingly cheat on Rachel, but I have so little memory of last night, anything could have happened. At the thought of Rachel, and cheating, my lower lip trembles and I can feel my eyes start to cloud over. I swipe angrily at my eyes; I don't have time for this. I need to figure out exactly where I am and what time it is.

Oh shit. Time. Work. Fuck.

I have to be to work at 9 a.m. I twist my head around, frantically looking for a clock. 8:30; which would have provided a small sense of relief if I had any idea if it was AM or PM. I roll over, intending to find my phone, and immediately regret the decision as my stomach lurches. I close my eyes and pray for my stomach to settle. I hate puking, and twice in as many days is more than I can handle right now. Thankfully my prayers are finally answered and I feel like I can move again.

I spot my purse on the night stand and half crawl, half drag myself across the bed toward it. Luck seems to be on my side as I spot my phone right on top. Grabbing the device I power the screen on. 8:34 a.m. Oh thank god. The last thing I needed right now was to be fired from my job for an unexcused absence.

I briefly consider trying to go to work, but quickly dismiss it. Even if my throbbing head would allow me to function, I reeked of a distillery, have no work clothes, have no idea where in the city I am, and probably wouldn't have enough time to get there even if it was right next door.

Okay, first, call in sick, which shouldn't be too hard since I feel like death warmed over. Second, get myself back to Santana's. Third….fuck it I'll figure out a third if I can get through the first two.

* * *

Mental note to self – the next time you go on a rip roaring bender remember to bring your sunglasses for the walk of shame home the next day. And yes, even if I hadn't slept with some random, this was still a total walk of shame.

God, was everything always this bright….and noisy….and intense? Spotting Santana's building I let out a whimper of relief. Just a few more steps and I would be able to sink into the healing oblivion of sleep. Right after I take a shower. I fumble with the keys, which I thankfully still had, and finally manage to unlock the door.

Never again; I don't care how emotionally devastated I am, I am never drinking like this again. Whatever short term relief it had offered yesterday was more than wiped out by the utter torture I was going through now. At least I would be able to crash in Santana's bed; the Latina would surely be at work by now.

"Where the fuck have you been?" Or not. Santana is sitting on the couch, glaringly angrily at my, arms crossed tightly across her chest. Her tone was sharp and bitchy; Santana for 'I was worried about you'.

"Not now Santana." I really could not deal with one of Santana's epic verbal confrontations right now; it had taken all my strength and willpower just to make my way here.

"Yes now. You leave here yesterday morning, no one hears from you for over 24 hours, you show back up looking like a hot mess. If you think I'm going to just let you slink off you are drunker than you look."

I debated just walking past her and locking myself in her bathroom, at least then I could be by myself to lick my wounds in private. I must have telegraphed my thoughts because Santana stood from the couch and advanced toward me. Great.

"Don't even think it blondie. We're having this conversation. I tried to let you work through whatever fucked up shit you had rolling around your head, but you have clearly fucked that all up. So know we are having this talk." Oh Santana if you even knew the half of it.

"Can I at least get a shower first?" If I smelled even half as awful as I felt I couldn't be any great pleasure to be around right now. Plus maybe a shower would make me feel a bit more human. I had thought about taking one at the hotel, but one glance at the bathroom and I had not been able to vacate quickly enough. If the bar I had found had been a dive, the hotel had been a crack-hole. I'm pretty sure I was one of the few customers who didn't just rent the rooms for an hour.

Santana is shaking her head. "No. Sit your ass down. If I let you go off and gather yourself you will just clam up." Well yes, that had rather been my plan. Santana knew me too well.

I sit down with a sigh. I am too exhausted and hung over to continue fighting with her. Maybe if I give in and tell her what she wants to know she will take pity on me and finally let me crash.

"Soooo…you're trip to the apartment didn't go as expected I take it."

Her flippant response, said with her trade mark bitchy sarcasm, in the wake of what I had gone through yesterday, sets me off instantly. "Actually Santana, it went almost exactly as I thought. I told you nothing good would come of me going over there!" If she hadn't insisted I go over there, I never would have seen what I did, and I wouldn't be here now, my life in pieces around me.

"Well what happened?"

"I don't want to talk about it." It is decidedly difficult to pretend something never happened if people insist on talking about it. If there was one event I desperately wanted to pretend never occurred it was the tableau I had witnessed yesterday.

"Well that sucks for you then, because you're going to. This quiet brooding shit has gone on for too long. So spill."

"Why can't you just leave me alone? Can't you see that I don't feel like talking about this?"

"Oh I can see alright. Something happened and instead of dealing with it like a fucking adult, you decided to run off and hide in a bottle."

"Like you're one to talk! You never deal with anything!" I was not going to sit here and take relationship and life advice from Santana of all people. She was the master at avoiding meaningful conversations and personal relationships.

"This isn't about me, it's about you."

"Exactly! This is my business, not yours." I stand up, intending to stomp out of the room. Living with Rachel had given me plenty of opportunity to study and perfect the art of the flounce out. Before I could take so much as a step Santana clamped onto my wrist and pulled me back down to the sofa.

"I said sit you're fucking ass down." I rub at my wrist, where Santana's grip had left a red mark; bitch had a grip of steel. Seriously did she do hand strengthening exercises? "What. Happened."

I glower at Santana defiantly, giving her my best death glare. She stares back, clearly unimpressed. Sigh. This never really worked in high school, I'm not sure why I thought now would be any different. Especially since she has spent years watching me make a total marshmallow of myself where Rachel is concerned... Rachel.

"She was at the apartment." I mumble my response.

"I gathered that much. I hardly think an empty apartment would have sent you into this much of a tail spin." I sit silently, staring intently at my feet. Santana huffs. "Aaaannd?"

"And she wasn't alone."

"So she had a friend over." Oh how much I wished I could believe that. I really did, but I knew what I had seen. There was a closeness, an intimacy, between Rachel and the red head.

"It looked like more than a friend."

Santana laughs. Fucking laughs! My world is shattered and she is laughing. I go to stand again but her hand clamps onto my shoulder before I can complete the action, anchoring me in place.

"Dude?"

I eye Santana sideways. "Woman." My answer is flat. I'm really not sure why the gender matters. Why would that be Santana's first question? Did she know something? I mean sure, somewhere in the back of my head I had always kinda wondered a little bit. Rachel had been totally boy crazy in high school. Her pursuit of Finn had been tireless, and determined. Sure I had pursued Finn as well, but more for the cover he could provide, the status he would help me attain, not for Finn himself. God I was such a bitch.

"She hot?"

"Why does that even matter? You want her number?" Seriously why am I friends with Santana?

Santana simply shrugs, nonplussed by my ire. "Maybe, depends. But if you're girlfriend is going to sleep with someone else the last thing you want is for it to be some fuggo."

"Well she was not a 'fuggo'." Far from it. Bitch. "I think she was one of Rachel's co-stars. They looked extremely cozy."

Santana nods, looking as if she understands totally. That was hardly reassuring. "So Berry was getting her freak on with one of her co-stars; didn't think she had it in her."

"Well apparently she does." I feel my stomach churn dangerously, though I know there is no danger of me actually puking, there was positively nothing in my stomach.

"So I was right, the sex was boring. What, did you refuse to fulfill all of Berry's kinky fantasies?"

I glare daggers at Santana. Yes, because now is the time to tell me 'I told you so' and ridicule my sex life. "Our sex life is fine." Santana looks skeptical. "I am not giving you the details of our sex life Santana!" Santana holds up her hands in surrender.

"Well why do you think she did it then?"

I pinch the bridge of my nose, suddenly feeling exhaustion crash over me. I close my eyes and sigh. "I don't know Santana. I wish I did."

"Oh c'mon, you must have some ideas?" God why won't she just leave me alone? It's like she's taking some kind of sick pleasure in poking at the gaping wound that was in the place my heart used to be.

"I don't know." Santana looks at me, waiting. I close my eyes, not wanting to look at her condescending smirk. After a few moments I sneak a peek. Still staring. UGH. She was so goddamned infuriating. I throw up my hands in frustration. Between the still persistent throbbing in my head, the rolling waves of nausea, and Santana's badgering and seeming amusement at the shambles my life had become; I snapped. "I don't know Santana? Maybe you're right. Maybe I am just a lousy lay. Or maybe I'm just not enough for her? She's going to be famous; we always knew that, even back in Lima; it's inevitable. Perhaps I am just a complete disappointment and she realizes that she can do better. Why saddle yourself with some mid-level cubicle monkey when you can be part of a power couple? Maybe it was always just a matter of time. Rachel has always dreamed larger than life; why would she want to settle for a nobody like me?"

Oh. Well. Shit.

Where the hell did that come from? Is that really what I thought this was about? Was I afraid that Rachel was going to dump me? She never really talked about my job. In the beginning, when I had first taken it to pay the bills, she had asked me a few times if I was sure, if this was what I wanted to do. I had reassured her that it was fine, I liked what I did. I didn't love it, I didn't have to, I loved her, and the job was a means to an end.

"You're an idiot."

Really? I mean really? "You're compassion is simply overwhelming. I find out my girlfriend cheated on me and your response is to call me an idiot. I'm so glad we could have this little heart to heart, I feel sooo much better."

Once again Santana laughs, and I seriously consider slapping her. "There is no way in hell Berry cheated on you. That girl is crazy about you."

"You weren't there Santana. I know what I saw."

"Well what did Rachel have to say?" Yeah, about that; I was hardly going to admit to Santana that I had run off like a fucking coward, that the very thought of Rachel cheating on me had caused me to puke my guts up and I had had to shove my head into a garbage shoot to avoid making a mess of the hallway. She had already laughed at me enough today.

"I wasn't going to stick around and listen to her excuses. I left."

Santana held up her hands and shook her head. "Wait, wait, wait. You do realize that jumping to conclusions is what got you here right? Are you seriously telling me, after this WHOLE fucking thing happened as the result of essentially a misunderstanding you didn't stop to clarify the situation?"

I cross my arms defensively. Well when she puts it like that I do sound like an idiot. "I guess."

She looks at me incredulously. "Quinn? Are you really that much of an idiot?" Apparently so. "There is no way that girl cheated on you. She has been worried sick about you." I wish I had Santana's confidence in the situation, but I just could not erase the images from my mind; the mussed appearance, the too familiar touching, Rachel's laugh. I think the laugh cuts me the deepest. She had seemed so happy. I was barely holding it together, and she was laughing.

Wait. "What do you mean Rachel has been worried sick? Have you been talking to her?" My voice is shrill, and I'm sure more than a little panicked. The idea of Santana laying out my pathetic moping of the past week to Rachel twists my stomach.

"Well when you failed to come back yesterday, and didn't answer any of my calls or texts..." Shit, I dimly remember shutting off my phone when I entered the bar, not wanting to talk to anyone. "…I finally called Rachel to see if she knew where you were. I was kinda hoping you guys had made up and you were in a sex coma. I can see now that wasn't that case…..or was it?"

I look at her sharply. I knew what she was asking. I wanted to be pissed at her for even suggesting such a thing, but for one blindingly panicked moment this morning I had feared the very same. Besides it wasn't like I didn't have a history of seeking revenge. And if I had thought that Rachel cheated on me, what better way to get back at her than to return the favor. Luckily even I'm not that much of an idiot. "No. I just went to a bar and got drunk. Really, really drunk."

Santana lets out a small relieved breath. "Well that's good then. No damage done."

I look at her incredulously. Is she fucking serious? "No damage done? Rachel cheated on me!"

Santana waves her hand dismissively. "No she didn't. If you could pry your head out of your ass you would know that there is simply no way that happened. Now why don't you call her and let her know you aren't dead in a ditch somewhere. I'm sure she will be thrilled to hear from you."

"No."

"What? Why not?"

I shake my head. I am not calling Rachel. Even if Santana was right, and god I really wanted to believe that she was right. At this point it didn't even matter. My possible tirade induced insight aside, I still don't know what my problem is, not for sure, and without that answer, Rachel isn't going to let me come home. I couldn't really even blame her. I had made her so unhappy with my bullshit. She is perched on the edge of greatness, the last thing she needs weighing her down is me and my emotional baggage. The Rachel I had seen yesterday had seemed happy, lighter; she deserved that. I was going to give it to her, even if it meant I couldn't be there to share it with her.

"I feel like shit Santana. I can barely focus, my head is throbbing, and all I want is to take a shower and crash. I just need a little time."

Santana looks like she wants to argue, but even she isn't totally unreasonable. "Fine. Just don't take too much longer. I want my apartment back, I needs to get my mack on."


	6. Chapter 6

**AN : I had an unexpected day off the other day, so I was able to actually finish all the writing and editing. Parts 5-7 also really needed to stay all together for me through the editing process since they were much more difficult to get on paper then I was anticipating. **

**I hope I didn't make a total incomprehensible bungle of Quinn's thoughts over these three sections, but it is a situation where I have spent so much time working on it that it makes sense to me, but hopefully I was able to transfer what was going on in her head to the page. If it makes no sense whatsoever let me know and I can always go back in and try to edit it a bit. **

**Part 6**

For the last couple of days I haven't been able to think about anything but my sudden outburst during my conversation with Santana. Is that what had been gnawing at me? Did I fear that Rachel thought I wasn't good enough for her? I had tried, searching my memory, and could find nothing to indicate or point to Rachel feeling this way. Something about the thought rang true though.

If Rachel wasn't the one that found me lacking, the only other logical culprit would be me. Was that it? Was it my own fears and insecurities that were driving a wedge between us? Not feeling good enough was not something that plagued my daily thoughts. I had come a long way from Lucy Quinn Fabray, but had I come far enough?

Feeling the embarrassing burn of inferiority was an emotion that Lucy had known well. Lucy hadn't been pretty enough, thin enough, popular enough, smart enough, everything had been lacking. Quinn had made sure that she was always on the top of the heap, the best at everything, even if she had to tear others down to reach the goal. So much of Quinn's self worth had been tied to making others feel badly about themselves.

Jesus, I am talking about myself in the split third person; a sure sign of mental health. Dissociative personality tendencies aside I had to wonder if maybe I wasn't on to something and I hadn't left Lucy as far behind as I thought.

For as long as Rachel and I had been together I had been, for lack of a better term, the "provider." I made sure that our bills were paid, that Rachel was properly taken care of, if she was feeling down about not getting her break I would be there to act as her personal cheerleader; anything she needed I made sure she got it. Without consciously planning to I had set up a situation where Rachel was dependent on me, and I realize now that a lot of my self image is based on that fact. To date I had been the alpha in the relationship, and that was all about to change.

It would not be long before Rachel wouldn't need me to pay the bills, her pay would far outstrip mine. She wasn't going to need me to cook and clean, she could simply hire people to do it for her. She was finally making it, so those fears would no longer need to be allayed. God, now I'm making it sounds like Rachel thinks of me as little more than a paycheck, or hired help, which isn't fair to her. I know if she were here she would insist that none of that mattered to her. But I'm beginning to realize this isn't about Rachel at all.

I had always measured myself by what others thought, how others saw me. It was something that had been drilled into me by my parents; appearance was everything. To my father especially, no matter what I did, I never seemed to gain his approval. For the longest time my self-worth was derived from getting others to look at me with envy. I had gone to great lengths to preserve my image, to create that false front. It was a part of myself I thought I had left behind in Lima.

Had I though? With Rachel about to be thrust into the spotlight it would no longer be "Quinn and Rachel" it would be "Rachel Berry, and her girlfriend". Where for years I had been the support, the pillar, I would suddenly be viewed as the hanger on. Cast into Rachel's shadow. How long would it be before people would question why famous Rachel Berry was with that nobody Quinn Fabray. Would Rachel start to question it herself?

And Rachel would be famous, of that I had no doubt. What was going to happen when I was suddenly measured against Rachel's success and found wanting? In the past I wouldn't hesitate to claw, scratch, and drag my opponent down to put myself on top. I know that instinct is still in me somewhere. I sometimes have to consciously reign myself in at work; I don't always succeed. I haven't turned that part of myself on Rachel in a long time; not since high school. Would that change? Had I already started without even realizing it?

This had all begun with a question; what would my life be like, what would I have done, what could I have accomplished, if I hadn't moved to New York to be with Rachel? I hadn't put it in quite those terms, but that had been the subtext; a subtext that Rachel had heard loud and clear. Boiled down to its simplest form – what could I have done, if Rachel hadn't held me back?

I swallow thickly, trying to put myself into Rachel's shoes for the first time. How would I feel if I came home and heard Rachel asking a friend, even hypothetically, how great her life could have been, if only she hadn't gotten together with me?

It would absolutely gut me. Intentionally or not, that's exactly what I had done to Rachel. Then when she had rightfully been pissed off and upset, instead of groveling for forgiveness for being a jackass, I had gotten into a shouting match with her and tried to make it her fault. Again.

I guess I could try to excuse my actions, by saying I didn't realize I was doing it, that none of this had been done intentionally to hurt Rachel. Somehow though that just made it seem worse in my mind. Without even realizing it I had reverted to form, making others feel badly about themselves so that I could feel better about myself. Was this just an innate part of my character; a fatal flaw that would keep reappearing, constantly cracking my perfectly constructed façade?

I wish I knew.

* * *

Days later I still don't have an answer. Santana keeps insisting that I need to call Rachel; that time is not fixing a damn thing. She's not wrong; no matter how much I sit here and try to figure out the tangled mess of thoughts and swirling emotions in my head I just can't. The more time that passes the more confused I get.

Santana is right about another thing; I can't stay at her apartment indefinitely. She hasn't brought up my moving out since last week, but I know she must be anxious to get her space back. I'm actually kind of surprised we haven't had at least one physical altercation with each other.

That was my task for today; stop sitting around and waiting, and actually start being proactive about my living situation. I am at my computer, doing just that, when Santana enters the room.

"What are you looking at? Porn?" I roll my eyes, only Santana would think that someone would sit at her dining room table, at 10 o'clock in the morning, looking at porn.

"Apartments." Santana stops in her tracks, and I realize that she had only tossed the question off as a joke as she was passing through the room. My answer seems to have stopped her cold.

"Excuse me, what? I know I didn't just hear you say apartments?"

"You did."

"And why the hell are you looking at apartments?"

"Santana you have been great, letting me stay here like this, but we both know that if it goes much longer one of us is going to end up in the hospital, or prison, or both."

"Oh I know I have shown the patience of a saint by not kicking your stubborn blonde ass at least a dozen times by now, but that still doesn't answer my question."

"Look I can't stay here forever, we both know that, so I figured I would start the search."

"Are you being deliberately dense? Do I have to spell it out for you? Why are you looking for apartments instead of just going the fuck home?"

I sighed. I knew what she had been asking. I had just been hoping to avoid this conversation, possibly forever. I know she will not see why I am handling it this way, hell I'm not entirely sure I knew why I was doing it this way. A complete lack of self awareness seems to be my new thing.

I just knew that until I got my shit together I was not going to subject Rachel to dealing with me. It wasn't fair to her to have to walk around on egg shells and possibly be constantly riddled with self doubt and guilt that she was somehow responsible for my current state of mind. Besides, if what I had viewed last week was any indication, she seemed to be doing much better without my presence. I still can't get the thought of that smile out of my mind. Of what it may mean.

"I'm not ready to go home yet Santana. I just need more…"

"Wait. Let me guess. Time." She shakes her head in disgust when my only response is a thin lipped stare. "You are fucking unbelievable. Are you seriously going to walk out on an almost ten year relationship, without any type of fight?"

"It's not that simple Santana. You don't know the whole situation."

"Well then please enlighten me because at the moment you just look like the world's biggest jackass."

"Look I'm not just walking out. I just have some shit to sort through, and I realize it's going to take a little more time..." Santana lets out a growl of annoyance at the word "…and since it is clear I can't stay here, and I can't go home, I need a place."

"And just what does Rachel think of your little plan?"

"I haven't told Rachel yet." I mumble my response, knowing that Santana is going to flip the fuck out. I am a little shocked when my response is initially met with silence.

"Oh that is just fucking _classic_." And there it is. "And why haven't you told Rachel yet?"

"Rachel made it quite clear that she wants me to figure out what was bothering me before coming home. I'm simply honoring that wish." Well…kind of anyway. I was pretty sure I knew what was bothering me, but until I figured out how to get past it I wasn't going to put Rachel in the potential line of fire.

"Bullshit you are. You are running like a fucking coward. What are you so afraid of?" The more Santana pushed the more I retreated. I was afraid. I was fucking terrified. But I wasn't running, not really. I wasn't doing this to protect myself; I was doing it for Rachel.

"I'm not afraid of anything Santana. Why do you do even care anyway? You haven't had a relationship longer than a weekend since high school. You are the last person to be lecturing me on how to handle myself in a relationship. Maybe if you put half as much energy into your own relationships you could get a second date once in a while." Remember what I said about how I reacted when I was backed into a corner and felt threatened? Everyone knew that mentioning Santana's failed relationship with Brittany was a no fly zone.

For a second Santana looks genuinely hurt and I feel a lance of regret. Before I can apologize she is sneering at me in disgust. "Whatever Fabray, if you want to throw your life away who am I to stop you. Rachel deserves better." With that last cutting remark Santana spins and executes an apartment storm out worthy of the aforementioned diva.

"I know." I whisper it to the empty apartment.


	7. Chapter 7

**Part 7**

Now that the writing is on the wall I really need to step up my timetable for finding a place. The argument with Santana will blow over eventually, at least I think it will, but for the sake of our friendship we really do need our own space.

Until Rachel's show gets off the ground finances are going to be tight. I am not going to just leave her stranded, so I am going to have to figure out a way to pay for two apartments. To do that I am pretty sure I am going to end up in the less desirable parts of the city, or Jersey. I lose myself in the search, eager to have something concrete to divert my attention. This is sure to prove a challenge.

I have been absorbed for I don't know how long when a knock on the door disturbs me. I smirk. Santana may have executed a good imitation of an epic diva storm out, but it appears that she failed to remember the most important rule, leave nothing you need behind. Especially your keys.

I know I probably shouldn't further antagonize the angry Latina, but out friendship was built on a solid foundation of mutual antagonism. I saw no reason to change that now; I needed any bit of normalcy I could cling to.

I walk over to the door and open it with a quip. "What's the matter Santana? Forget some…." Rachel.

I swallow the rest of my sentence, struck mute. My stomach dips, and I clutch at the doorframe desperately, suddenly feeling all of the blood rush from my head. It had technically only been one week since I saw her last, well if you counted the brief glimpse I caught of her in the hallway. Two since I was actually able to look her in the eye. Three since I had been able to look at her openly, without feeling the strained awkwardness that had grown between us. It felt like an eternity.

I frown slightly, not liking what I am seeing. Well, that's not completely accurate. I love what I am seeing. I could stare at her all day. I had missed the sight of her. What I was objecting to were the shadows beneath her eyes, the way her once shiny chestnut hair was now just a little bit dull, and the slight curls not having the same vibrant bounce I remembered. She looked thinner, Rachel was already on the too slender side, and she couldn't afford to drop any more weight.

She was twisting her fingers, a clear sign she was nervous; very little made Rachel nervous. Why would she be nervous? Oh. Maybe because I have been standing here for god knows how long, staring at her, without saying a word. God I just want to scoop her up in my arms and hug her…Oh, right, speaking, speaking would be good.

"Rachel hi, ummm, this is a surprise. What are you doing here?"

She jumps slightly, apparently startled that the statue in front of her has finally decided to speak. "Oh, well I was….Santana."A bite off a sigh, of course. God damnit why couldn't she have just left well enough alone. I know I needed to talk to Rachel about my plans, but I had wanted more time to formulate what I was going to tell her, and now Santana had just forced my hand.

"Would you like to come in?" I step back allowing her the space to enter the apartment. The stilted politeness between us is killing me. Rachel seems unnaturally subdued, her normally bubbly enthusiasm nowhere to be found.

"That would be lovely thank you." She proceeds past me and I close the door behind her. I notice her swiveling her head around, taking in her surroundings. She and I have been here countless times, she knew her way around Santana's; she was still nervous. Her gaze seems to pause at the dining room table, taking in my computer, portable printer, and the assortment of papers I had collected together in my apartment search. She wouldn't be able to make out any details at this distance but I wince anyway.

"Would you like something to drink? Coffee? Tea?" God this felt so unnatural, next thing I would be commenting about the weather we were having.

"No thank you." She's standing in the middle of the living room, still twisting her hands, clearly unsure of what her next move should be.

"Why don't we sit down?" I motion toward the couch and make my way over. I sit on the far end of the sofa, not entirely trusting myself to be closer to her. She sits gingerly, back ram rod straight, and perches on the edge of the sofa. "So um..how have you been?" It's not a comment about the weather but it is damn close.

"Oh fine, you know, staying busy. The rehearsal schedule on the show has really picked up now that all of the casting is in place. Everyone is putting in tons of hours to get ready to open in a few weeks." It partly confirms my suspicions about Rachel's appearance. She would be focusing all her energy and attention on making sure her performance was perfect, and would never think to spare a thought for taking proper care of herself. A pang rips through my chest when I realize I may not even be there when she makes her starring debut. She may not want me there, and I was hardly going to crash her show.

"Good, that's good." She's looking at me with those big brown eyes, the unease clear to see. I can't keep avoiding this forever, so I decide to just bite the bullet. "So…Santana?" We had known each other long enough that I didn't have to voice the rest of the question.

Rachel nods slightly. "Yes she came to the apartment, quite agitated, and was very insistent that I needed to come over here right away, that you…..ah…may require some ….assistance…in making a decision for a more….positive outcome." I look at Rachel and raise my eyebrow. That sounded nothing like Santana. "I may be paraphrasing a bit."

Despite the seriousness of the situation I smile slightly. "I can only imagine. She was pretty pissed off at me when she stormed out. You would have been proud, very good technique." A ghost of a smile twitches across Rachel's lips, but it doesn't quite reach her eyes.

"Did she, uh, say what it was that I may need help deciding?" I know I should just get to the point, but my stomach was in absolute knots. I knew that this was going to be a hard conversation to have, but I hadn't realized it was going to be quite this hard. Rachel shakes her head.

I look down at my hands, I can't look at her, can't stare into her eyes when I tell her this. God how am I going to tell her this? When I made the decision to get my own place it had seemed quite logical. Now, faced with actually having to verbalize my reasoning, it seemed quite insane.

"I've been giving a lot of thought to what you said. How I needed to figure out what would make me say something like that. I have thought of little else these past two weeks." I pause, trying to figure out how to segue into the next part.

"And have you?" Rachel fires the question out rapidly, like she can't help herself, a trace of hope in her tone.

"Um….kinda?" She lets out a soft sigh and I risk a peak at her out of the corner of my eye. She seems to deflate a little at my response, her shoulders droop and she sinks back into the sofa. I want to reach out and comfort her, but I know I can't. "I think I am on the right track, I'm just not quite there yet, and I need a little bit more time to figure it out."

Even though I am not looking at her, still afraid to make eye contact, I can feel her gaze burning into me. If there was one person that knew me better than Santana, it was Rachel. She would know that I was dancing around something, evading the real issue.

"Why was Santana so mad?" Yup, right to the heart of it.

"Well as you can imagine it is a minor miracle that Santana and I have managed to live together this long without drawing blood." I laugh, a forced nervous sound, and risk a quick glance at Rachel; she isn't smiling, just looking at me with those too serious eyes. God this is so hard. I clear my throat, my mouth suddenly going bone dry. Just do it damnit; rip off the bandage in one quick stroke. "So I decided it would be better for both our continued good health, and the state of our friendship, if I..um…" Say it, just say it you coward…"ah…got my own….place."

I had finally gotten it out. If I expected to feel relief at finally getting the issue on the table I was sorely disappointed. It felt like a steel band was clamped around my chest, constricting the airflow to my lungs. I waited, not really sure what to expect from Rachel. Would she protest? Argue that I was being silly, that I should just come home? Or worse, would she be relieved?

"Oh." It's only one word, one tiny syllable, but it seems to hang in the air for an eternity. I notice that her hands have stilled in her lap, I figured it was safe to look at her as long as I didn't make eye contact, and I can see her white knuckles standing out in sharp contrast to her tan skin.

A few seconds pass, but she doesn't say anything else. Is that it? Am I supposed to say something? Rachel almost always has a litany of follow up questions, so this silence was…unnerving.

"Are you…um..did you have any….questions?" I finally break the silence, not able to take it any longer. None of this feels right. I mean I didn't expect it to be all sunshine and roses, but this utter lack of reaction from Rachel is just wrong. Rachel was ruled by her emotions, this…..numbness, was so utterly out of character.

The silence is so complete I can actually hear her swallow. "What would you have me ask Quinn? You have made your decision. I respect that."

"And that's it?" My tone is sharp. It's perverse of me, I know, but I feel an irrational anger flare in my chest. I was doing this for Rachel after all, making this sacrifice so I didn't risk harming her, and she didn't even seem to care. I was falling on my sword, spilling my own guts out, and it was like I was talking to some emotionless Rachel-bot.

"What do you want me to say Quinn? You've clearly made up your mind. What is the point in me trying to talk you out of it? I've always wanted what's best for you, always. While it kills me that being with me isn't what makes you happy any longer, I am not going to force you to say in a situation that makes you miserable."

No, no, no. This wasn't how this was supposed to go. The whole point of this awful plan was so that Rachel _wouldn't _feel like this was her fault in anyway. Because it wasn't, all of this was because of my fucked up head space.

I recognized this Rachel now; this was Rachel after she had given up, after she had had her heart stomped on. That was the last thing I wanted, I had to explain this better.

"Rachel, no, you don't understand. I'm not explaining myself properly. I don't want to get my own place because I'm unhappy with you. This isn't your fault, none of this is your fault, this is all me."

"It's not you, it's me." She echoes the trite saying with a sarcastic lilt that cracks my heart. Oh god, that is what that sounded like you idiot. This is exactly why I try to avoid emotionally fraught situations; I am completely and utterly shit at them.

"No. Rachel, that's not….God I am butchering this so badly. This truly has nothing to do with you…" Way to be reassuring asshole. "…well I mean it does. Of course it does, but not in that way." God stop babbling and fix this. "What I said…It wasn't…You aren't….You've always had these bigger than life dreams you know? Even when we were kids you had this unshakable faith that you would make it, that you would end up on Broadway, and you have, you are…..I don't, I've never.. had that."

"Because of me." Her voice is quiet, but rings with a guilty certainty that stabs at me.

"What, no, not because of you."

"I never wanted you to give up your dreams for my Quinn. I begged you not to do that." She had. I remember the discussions, sometimes more like fights, which had transpired after I had graduated and insisted on going to work right away. I hadn't wanted Rachel to be burdened with earning a living; she needed to focus on auditions, practice; I could earn the money to support us.

"Rachel that's just it, I didn't give up my dreams for you, that's the whole point." She looks confused, I can't really blame her, I have done a poor job of explaining the jumble of thoughts in my head. "You always had these grand dreams, I never did. Don't you see, there was never anything for me to give up. My only dream, if you even want to call it that, was getting out of Lima. I did that, everything else has just been icing."

She frowns, my explanation clearly not alleviating her confusion. "Then what's the problem Quinn? Why are you so eager to get away from me?"

"Rachel I'm not trying to get away from you." God how did I explain this to her. I suppose I should go back to the source. "You never really met my father did you?"

"Your father? No." I knew she hadn't. We hadn't been friends then, and even if we had been, there was no way I would have brought her home to meet the parents.

"My father was…well still is I'm sure…a real….asshole." Blunt and crude, but there was really no other way to describe Russell Fabray. "When I was a little girl he was my hero. I would have done anything to make him happy, to make him proud of me….I never could though. No matter what I did, no matter how hard I tried, he would always find fault. By the time I reached high school I was so close, I thought I had finally become someone he could be proud of, and then well…you know.

It wasn't just me though. No one was ever good enough, and Russell would never hesitate to point out their flaws. I saw what it did to my mother; she bore the brunt of his 'helpful suggestions'. Year after year, day in and day out, it wore away at her. It broke her." I trailed off, momentarily lost in my memories. Rachel's voice breaks my unpleasant reverie.

"Quinn I'm sorry your dad was so horrible to you and your mom, but I really don't see how this explains why you feel the need to move out." She pauses, trying to puzzle it out. "Do I make you feel that way?" She sounds utterly stricken at the thought, like she is on the verge of tears.

"No, Rachel…no. Me. I can't do that to you, I won't. Even if I have to move out to make sure that I don't."

"Quinn what are you even talking about? You're not making any sense. You have never made me feel like I wasn't good enough!"

"Haven't I? What about two weeks ago Rachel? How did that make you feel?" I slice at her deliberately, trying to draw blood, needing her to see.

Her chest heaves, her breathing becoming erratic. "That's not…that wasn't…You didn't know…" My mother used to try to make excuses for my father too; not wanting to believe the worst about the man she had married.

"No. I didn't know, and that's just the point. Without even realizing it I was following in my father's footsteps. I was turning back into the bitch I was in high school. Always looking to tear others down to feel better about myself."

She pauses, collecting her thoughts. "How?"

"How, what?"

"You didn't know I was even there. How was what you said, in what you thought was a private conversation, the same as what your father used to do?"

"It was….I was…." I shake my head confused. This had all made sense a few days ago, perfect sense, I could see how it would play out so clearly if I stayed. "What if this is how it starts? What if at first it's just a question to a friend, then it turns into cutting little comments, subtle digs." I shake my head violently. "I won't risk that Rachel; I won't hurt you like that."

She laughs, a bitter sound that holds no trace of humor. "So instead of maybe, _maybe, _running the risk of hurting me. Which, just for the record, I don't think you'll do. You have been my biggest supporter, and loudest cheerleader for the longest time Quinn. Instead of risking that miniscule chance, you are going to what? End it? Walk away? You don't think _that's_ going to hurt me?"

What is this really about Quinn? You said you had thought about why you asked what you did to Santana, that you had kind of figured it out, but that you needed more time. Moving into your own apartment doesn't sound like time Quinn. How does all this tie together? What does this have to do with your father? With how you were in high school? Help me understand." She is pleading, and as confused as I am, as much as I want to just flee and regroup, I can't deny her. I have to make her understand.

"I don't have some grand dream Rachel. I never did."

"So you said; and what, you want the time and space to find out what it might be?"

I shake my head. "No, just the opposite. I don't think everyone has that grand dream. I think I'm one of those people."

"Quinn I still don't understand." I know she is trying, I can hear it in her voice. She is frustrated that she just doesn't seem to get what I am trying to say.

"You're this amazing person Rachel, destined for great things. I'm just…not."

"Oh, Quinn." I think she finally gets it. I'm sensitive for the barest trace of pity in her voice, but I don't hear any, just a deep thread of compassion and understanding. For the first time since she arrived, actually for the first time in three agonizing weeks, she reaches out for me.

She threads her fingers through my hair, cupping the back of my head, and loosely tangling her fingers in the hair at my nape. My eyes flutter closed at the contact, I can't help myself, it's been so long. She uses her grip to tilt my head up, so that our gazes meet full for the first time since I greeted her at the door.

She looks at me with such a look of love and understanding that I feel whatever vestiges of resistance I was still holding on to crumble. This is exactly what I was afraid of.

"Do you think that matters to me? What you do, doesn't matter to me, it never did. Who you are, that's all that has ever mattered to me. If you wanted to sell hot dogs out of a cart it wouldn't matter to me." She pauses, a small grin quirking her lips. "Well that's not entirely true. The idea of you coming home every night smelling of steamed hot dogs and onions is somewhat less than appealing. But as long as you showered first, I would fully support you if that's what you wanted to do.

Who you are, right now, today, that's enough for me. You don't have to prove anything to me Quinn." She looked into my eyes, searchingly. "But is it enough for you?" How did she see the problem so clearly, when I had barely understood it myself? I dip my head, wanting to break the eye contact, not wanting to feel so vulnerable, even with Rachel. She allows the shift, but keeps her hand resting on the back of my neck.

"That's the question isn't it?" Was who I was enough for me? Was I going to be able to stand in Rachel's shadow? Have other's constantly judge me against the measure of her success, and inevitably find me lacking. Was I going to let what others thought of me continue to rule my life, or was I finally going to just ignore them and realize they didn't matter. I still didn't know. But sitting here, which Rachel, it seemed a lot more possible than it had yesterday.

"If you could do anything you wanted, right now, what would it be?" My silence must have stretched for too long, so Rachel was trying a different tact.

I smiled crookedly. That was at least an easy question, and I answered it without a hint of hesitation or doubt. "I would come home." It really was that simple. At the end of the day I just wanted to be at home, with Rachel, happy.

"Then come home." The words are whispered in my ear, sending a shudder down my spine. I turn my head instinctively, nuzzling into her neck. I take a deep breath, filling my lungs with the scent of her. She brings her other hand up and cups the side of my face. She pulls back slightly and I whimper, already feeling the loss. She once again tips my face up to meet hers.

Her eyes are drenched in emotion, swimming with unshed tears. "I'm sorry." I make a sound of protest, and try to shake my head, but she holds firm. "No Quinn. I'm sorry. I never should have asked you to leave. Whatever was bothering you, we should have worked through it together." She pauses, dipping her eyes, and it is my turn to reach out and tilt her chin up. "When I heard you… I was just so…. I know how I was in high school. I was constantly ignoring what other people wanted as long it meant I got what I wanted." I smile, thinking of Sunshine and the crack house. Yes Rachel has been almost bad as me when it came to bulldozing others to get what she wanted. "I vowed that I wouldn't do that with you. When I heard…."She shakes her head again. "All I could think was that I had done it again, without even realizing it. I was hurt, and I was angry, and afraid, and I just…lashed out. So I'm sorry."The parallel is not lost on me, and by the watery smile on Rachel's face it is not lost on her either.

"We're quite the pair aren't we?" I say it partly in jest, to try to dispel some of the emotionally charged atmosphere.

"We are." Rachel's answer is completely sincere. I lean forward, the distance between us suddenly unbearable, and nuzzle into her neck once again. I wrap my arms tightly around her back and pull her close. I feel her sigh, in relief or contentment I'm not sure, and she sags against me in return. She strokes her hands through my hair, and I hum in contentment.

"Santana's going to be so disappointed."

Rachel laughs lightly. "Why? The way she stormed into our apartment and dragged me out of there I think this was rather the outcome she was hoping for. We own her a big thank you." We really did, or at least I did. I had been a total bitch to her, and said some truly hurtful things, and she had just been trying to help me. "Maybe a fruit basket," Rachel muses and I chuckle into her neck, placing a small kiss on her collar bone.

"I think she was really hoping to get a chance to kick my ass. She has been threatening to do it all week, insisting I was being a stubborn idiot with my head shoved up my ass. My deciding to get my own place was the final straw for her." I feel Rachel stiffen and I tighten my grip reassuringly, placing another tender kiss on her neck. "And since that is no longer happening, she has lost her excuse for a good beat down."

Rachel kissed the top of my head. "I'm sure she will find another reason, this is Santana. Though I will have to remind her that if she actually harms you she's going to have me to answer to." Rachel's voice is fierce; my little warrior. We sit quietly for a few minutes, content to simply soak in each other's nearness; there will be time for more later.

"We're going to be okay?" I hear the question, and wish it had been a statement, but Rachel is still clearly feeling a little unsure.

"We're going to be okay." I reassure her without hesitation. And we would be, I would make sure of it.


	8. Chapter 8

**Part 8**

We weren't okay. Don't get me wrong, things were better; I was back home, we were talking, but things were not yet back to normal.

My recent actions aside, I really am not a total idiot. I knew that one heartfelt conversation was not going to magically erase the years of emotional baggage I was clearly carrying around with me. Know that I knew what had been bothering me, that nagging leftover sense of never being good enough, I could work on it. We could work on it.

I wasn't going to magically fix myself overnight, but neither would I let it destroy the life we had built together. So we had talked, and talked, and then talked some more; lots of talking. It was good though; I was able to better articulate some of the thoughts that had been churning around in my head during the two weeks we spent apart. Having Rachel as a sounding board, someone that knew me so well, someone that I felt safe with, had helped me immeasurably. I felt like I was making real progress.

But things weren't completely back to normal. We had hugged, cuddled, kissed, but we hadn't slept together yet. Rachel was working, a lot, so that was part of the reason. She would come home wrung out and exhausted. We would have dinner, and then maybe snuggle up on the couch and have one of our many talks. I didn't push her for more. In fact it was just the opposite. The few times she had tried to take things further I had put the brakes on. She hadn't really asked, but I knew she had to be wondering why. Her silence wasn't going to last forever.

You see in all the talks we had, there was one topic I had avoided like the plague. The Red Head.

Every time we had almost escalated our intimacy thoughts of her, and what she may have done with Rachel, would pop into my head and I would freeze up. I had tried to convince myself I was being ridiculous. Santana was right, Rachel was crazy about me, just like I was about her, and I know I would never cheat on her. Still though, the uncertainty, the not knowing, was gnawing at my brain like a rat, and I couldn't shake it loose.

I thought at first I just needed a little time. I know, Santana would be over here to kick my ass in a flash if she heard me say that. Time didn't seem to be helping. You would think I would have learned from my recent experiences that time tended to only help issues fester, but no, I am apparently a very slow learner.

I know Rachel was wondering about my odd behavior. I could see the questioning looks when I halted things, the little tendril of worry. I couldn't keep avoiding the situation. I wasn't going to let Rachel doubt me, doubt us, again. I was just so fucking scared.

I was pretty certain, like 99.99%, that Santana was right, that nothing happened. That I had seen something totally innocent and I was just being a paranoid ass. It was that other .01% though that was keeping me awake at night. What if she had done something? She had been hurt, confused, feeling abandoned. The thing that scared me the most was that if she had actually done something I wasn't sure I could forgive and get past it.

Being without her for two weeks had shown me just how bleak and empty my life without her would be. The prospect of facing a lifetime of that was almost beyond comprehension. In hindsight I really don't know how I thought I was ever going to stick to my 'brilliant' plan of moving out. Which is why I had been avoiding the subject; ignorance is bliss. I figured if I didn't know for sure, I would get over it and everything would be fine.

Except the not knowing is driving me insane, so I am going to have to face it head on, and pray I can handle the outcome.

"Quinn…..I think we need to talk." I jump; I hadn't heard Rachel enter the living room, I had been totally lost in thought. What she said finally registers and I swallow. She beat me to it.

"Sure Rach, what do you want to talk about?" I try to interject some cheerfulness into my tone. I don't want her worrying anymore then she already has been. She sits down, hands twisting together, and I realize I have failed spectacularly.

"I haven't wanted to say anything, since I figured maybe we were just readjusting to being back under the same roof, but you have seemed…..a bit distant….at times." Yup, she has totally noticed my odd, and completely out of character behavior.

"I'm sorry. I didn't mean to worry you." See I am learning, albeit slowly. "There's just been something I haven't been able to…..talk about yet." She looks worried and I reach over to grasp her hand, fiddling idly with her fingers. "I know when we decided we should take a little time apart we didn't really talk about the….rules…of the situation."

"Rules?" It is clear by her tone she has absolutely no idea to what I am alluding.

"The ah….rules…as far as..um…other people."

"Other people." She parrots, still adrift. Suddenly I feel her tense up and she pulls her hand back with a sharply indrawn breath. Well that's not a reassuring sign. At all. I brace myself, sure that my world is about to come crashing down.

"I see." Her voice is small, and I see her lower lip tremble before she clamps it between her teeth. I watch her warily as she drops her head down, staring intently at her lap. After a few moments she lifts her head slowly before nodding to herself, she seems to have arrived at some decision. "You're right, we didn't really establish any…ground rules. So….I forgive you."

Wait. "Forgive me? For what?" I am truly baffled by her response. She forgives me because she hooked up with some red headed slut? Who she still sees every day at rehearsal. I grind my teeth together at the thought.

She looks at me, confusion etched on her brow. "For….having an illicit rendezvous while we were apart."

"What?! Rachel I didn't sleep with anyone! I mean I got really, really drunk, one time, and I mean I suppose it could have happened…"I notice her fierce frown and rush to continue. "…but it didn't. And besides, the only reason I got that drunk in the first place was because you slept with someone else!"

Rachel gasps and pulls back, her hand spread dramatically across her chest. "I most certainly did not!"

"Rachel I saw you!"

"I don't know what you saw Quinn Fabray but it was most definitely not that." She sounded very sincere, her righteous indignation not even a little forced. She was an actress however, and if we had come this far I might as well get the full story.

"I came by the apartment a week after I left, to pick up some stuff, you were in the hallway. With some…."Slut. "…red headed woman."

Rachel furrows her brow, searching her memory. Her forehead smoothes out and she looks at me puzzled. "You mean Lauren?"

"I didn't catch her name Rachel. Tall, auburn curls, skin like porcelain, body to die for." Rachel nods her head, clearly recognizing the description and I scowl.

"That sounds like Lauren." Rachel looks at me in exasperation. "Quinn Lauren is my co-star…" Ha! I knew it. "…and my friend. Nothing happened between us. I was feeling particularly down about our situation, and Lauren noticed that I was unusually tense and distracted in rehearsals. She asked why, one thing led to another and I just spilled the whole story. She offered to come over and keep me company. That's it. She also happens to be very straight."

I usually hate it when Santana is right, but I have to say, this time it feels like the best sensation in the world.

"Did you really think I would cheat on you?"

"No..?" Rachel looks at me pointedly, her arms crossed. "Yes..?" She sighs out in exasperation and I look at her sheepishly. "I'm an idiot." I answer, as if that will explain everything. Rachel looks at me a moment longer, before reaching out and pulling me into a tight hug. She rests her chin on my shoulder, and I wrap my arms around her back.

"You are an idiot." The words are breathed out against my ear and I feel an almost immediate pull in my groin. Rachel knows how sensitive my ears are. Proving that point even further she grips my ear lobe between her teeth and tugs gently. I know exactly where this is headed, and this time I will most definitely not be stopping it. "But you're my idiot."

* * *

**AN: Ok well there it is, my first, and likely last, foray into the world of first person fics. **

**I know some of you were a bit pissed at Quinn early on, but hopefully now that we have reached the end you can see a bit where she was coming from. While it would be nice if we had total awareness of why we do certain things, at the time we do them, that is not always the case, and it was one of the things I was hoping to convey over the progression of this fic. One of the things I struggled with with the FPPOV was not knowing if I was getting the character motivations/thoughts, which were clear to me, adequately translated onto the page. Usually I would have my beta read through - but she is not a Faberry fan so I spared her the experience, and thus had no "dude that makes no sense" sounding board.**


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